


Your Fault

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of A Song of Ice and Fire Drabbles [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hair Brushing, Hair-pulling, Haircuts, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: The Reader has difficulty brushing out the knots of her hair after a rough night with Ramsay.





	Your Fault

You brushed at your hair with very little success, even using water to soak the trouble spots before you began again, but it was useless. You hastily moved the brush almost too brutally through your hair, tugging it every which way, hearing the laughs and approaching footsteps in the corridor.

He wasn’t here, yet, and you weren’t presentable. As the door flung open, you threw your brush down and stood quickly, in nothing but a nightgown and a barefeet.

“Reek, be a good thing, and stand in the hall outside the door,” Ramsay spoke.

“Yes, milord.” The pitiful excuse of a person shuffled out and the door shut with him. You bowed your head in greeting.

“My Lord Ramsay.” You glanced up, looking between your lashes. “Forgive me. I am having difficulties brushing the night out of my hair. I’m afraid I’m not yet ready.”

He took careful steps towards you, his eyes narrowed carefully, before he smirked. “You did not ask your ladies?”

“I was unaware of how much time I had lost,” you admitted carefully. He made a sound in his throat, and his eyes flickered to the table where the bowl of water and the brush were resting.

“My father will be expecting us in fifteen minutes.” You knew. “Dress, quickly, and I’ll think of a solution for your hair.” You bowed your head, to signal you heard and went to your wardrobe, selecting the gown your handmaidens had beat from dust and brushed to be in pristine condition.

It was quick and easy to pull on, and the slippers were even faster to secure into place, before you turned back to Ramsay, and he assessed you. “What are you trying to do with your hair, my lady?”

You felt more confident when you weren’t near naked. You met his eyes once you caught sight of a small dagger in his hands. No bigger than a letter opener, but still something that you did not want near your person. Keeping back the tremor of fear, you gave him a small smile. “Anything that’s not a terrible mess, my lord.” He made a noise of agreement.

“Sit,” he instructed. What… was he going to do? He noticed your hesitation. “I thought you trusted me…”

“I do,” you hurriedly assured him as you moved forward. “I just don’t know what a knife will do for brushing my hair?”

He quirked an eyebrow as you sat. “To cut it off, obviously.”

You reared away from him before he could even reach for your hair. “What? Absolutely not!” You hadn’t even hesitated to question his judgement and you saw his jaw tick in irritation. Clutching the tangled bits of your hair, you stared at him. “I thought you were brushing it-”

“That’s what a maid’s for.”

You and he stared at one another for a moment, before you reached for the table. “Try the brush. And if it doesn’t work, then you can cut off, carefully selected pieces of my hair.” It was the most you were willing to compromise.

He set to work, using more force that you had and you knew it was damaging your hair, but you’d rather have damaged hair than a poorly done chopping job. And it hurt. Your tears in your eyes did well to show him that, and he didn’t seem intent on apologizing for any sharp jerk of your head. Most of it was smooth once more, except for one stubborn spot.

He reached for his knife again, but you stopped him. “No, please, I can work with this section, and hide it in a braid.”

He let out a huff of irritation. “I would hurry then, my lady. We’re almost late. And my father isn’t very fond of those that make a habit of being late.”

You glanced to him from the looking glass, a smirk on your lips. “It was you that made me late last time. And I think this one goes for you as well.” You tied off your hair with a light ribbon, and he smirked proudly in return. “Afterall, this hair is because of you.”

“Next time I’ll have to be more careful.”

He would be the exact opposite of that, you knew. You merely kept your smirk and rose. “That you will.”


End file.
